The FBucket List

by Lena Fox

  There never had been. Ever.

  Remember why you’re here. It’s not to make friends or boyfriends. It’s to get through The List.

  Blake loomed over me, a solid wall of man-flesh between me and the dance floor. “That’s good then. Otherwise I would’ve felt like a tool for wanting to kiss you.”

  His lips were already so close to mine. I got so hot so fast it was a wonder I didn’t faint dead away. “You want to kiss me?”

  “I would have asked first. It’s only polite—”

  My lips were on his. I didn’t want polite. I wanted a man to get me to second base. That was all. And if it could be this gorgeous specimen, hells yes please.

  His kiss was nothing like the guy’s from the week before. His lips felt soft and full, his tongue thick and warm as it filled my mouth. He ran his fingers up the sides of my neck and held my face, and an ache started in my belly. I felt hungry in a way I had never been hungry before.

  I pressed into him, pushing my body into his as he bent over me. My breasts flattened between us and his arms came down behind my arched back, bringing me into him even more.

  The only problem with the situation was that I still had the remains of a drink in each hand. When Blake ducked his face away from mine and kissed my neck, a shockwave ran through me and the fullest cup slipped right through my fingers and landed on the ground. It landed with a splash and I stared at his black boots in horror. They were covered with ice and liquid. Blake stopped and looked down as well.

  “I’m not normally the type to get cold feet,” he said.

  “I am so sorry.”

  Looking down at himself, wet from shoulder to toes, he sighed. “I think I ought to go home and change.”

  I could see the moment slipping through my fingers the same way the glass had. If I couldn’t do this, if I failed tonight, I wasn’t sure I’d be strong enough to try again.

  “Can I come with you?” It didn’t sound sexy like I wanted, but at least I’d said it.

  A wide grin split Blake’s mouth. “Would I say no to a gorgeous woman drenched in alcohol?”

  He extended his hand to me, an invitation and a dare. Am I really following this god-like man out of a club? To go home with him? Did he really just call me gorgeous?

  Yes.

  Everything was unfamiliar, surreal. My heart beat so fast. The crowd was shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking our escape, but Blake took the lead, clearing a path before him like one of those icebreaking ships, pulling me behind him by the hand.

  Outside, reality seemed much closer than it had in the colored-light world of the club.

  I froze in the middle of the parking lot, and Blake turned back. “How do I know you’re not some serial killer or something?”

  Blake narrowed his eyes at me again. “How do I know you aren’t? You’re the one bringing it up.”

  “It’s very rare for a woman to be a serial killer. I mean, there are documented cases of it, sure, but the odds are far better that you are the serial killer. And on the unlikely chance we both are killers, you’re like, twice as big as I am. I think you’ve got the upper hand here.”

  He looked like he wanted to laugh. “You’re a very interesting girl, Georgina. If you’re worried, stay here. But life is what it is, and it doesn’t last long. I’m all for taking chances. So how about this—I’ll take my chances with you being a serial killer if you take your chances with me. Deal?”

  I could imagine all kinds of terrible outcomes that could, and did, happen to women all the time from situations like this. But inside of me there was a part that was already cold and dead. He didn’t know how right he was about life not lasting long. What did I have to lose? The List Georgina is brave Georgina. The List Georgina says yes.

  “Deal.”

  He smiled. “My bike is over here.”

  “I love motorbikes.” Well, that is an outright lie. I had a thing for them when I was a kid and didn’t know better, but now they just seemed unnecessarily dangerous and impractical.

  When he led me to the gleaming chrome and steel beast, I almost called the whole thing off. He gave me his helmet.

  “What about you?” I asked, as he helped me push the thing down over my head.

  “The helmet goes to the prettiest person on the bike.”

  I would have thought him prettiest, but I wasn’t going to argue. I couldn’t figure out how to climb on, and he was no help. He just sat there astride the huge thing, gunning the motor so it roared.

  Taking a shot at it, I swung my leg over like he had and slid into the space behind him. My dress was too short and too tight to be sitting astride the wide seat of the bike, and it scrunched right up to my hips. I tugged at the fabric, desperate to cover my panties, but just had to be satisfied that I was mostly hidden behind Blake.

  The breeze picked up and the door of the country-western club across the parking lot swung open. A snatch of a song blew out; a guy was wailing about living like you were dying, and my heart dropped into my belly.

  “Let’s go,” I said, unsure whether Blake could hear me.

  The rumble of the bike mixed with the butterflies in my belly. Blake took off and I wrapped my arms around his waist and waited to end up as a smear along the highway.

  Cool air rushed over my bare legs and streetlights flashed by as fast as the strobe light at the club. The cars in the other lanes all seemed too close. Strangely, I didn’t feel scared. I felt alive.

  I could smell the leather of Blake’s jacket and feel the smooth muscles of his back tensing as he drove us into the night. Soon I relaxed into it, bending as we went around corners, the two of us moving together as one. When he paused at a traffic light, he reached one hand back and ran it down my bare thigh. Heat zinged through me. The whole experience felt so intimate I was almost ready to tick some items off The List right there and then.

  Ten minutes later, Blake pulled up in front of an old, two-story bungalow that crouched between what looked like a closed-down kennel and a row of equally run down homes. The wood paneling had more paint peeled off it than paint remaining, if you didn’t count graffiti tags. It made my place look downright fancy.

  I managed to get off the bike and get the helmet off without killing myself—literally or with embarrassment. I stood there, the feel of the bike still imprinted between my thighs and my face flushed from more than the wind. “Your place?”

  Blake winced dramatically, sucking a breath in between his teeth. “I know it’s dodgy. But rent is cheap, and the neighborhood is pretty good, really.”

  Looking around, I had to disagree. Weeds grew up through the sidewalk, half of the streetlights were out, and the other houses on the street looked just as broken and worn-out as the one we stood in front of. I was ready to place bets on whether I was more likely to die here in a mugging or a drive-by.

  Luckily, Blake led me inside before any street crime could occur. The interior wasn’t a whole lot better, filled with mismatched furniture that looked like it had been collected from sidewalk garbage pick-ups. Milk crates with a street sign on top made a coffee table, and a long brown sofa of cracked leather was covered with newspapers, textbooks, and an empty pizza box. From the corner of my eye I was sure I saw Blake snatch some underwear off the floor and throw it behind the kitchen counter. It didn’t look like men’s underwear.

  I thought this had been easy, and realized I probably wasn’t the first girl he’d brought home like this. There I was feeling proud of my catch, when I was the one who’d been hooked. How many other girls had Blake caught? And what had he caught from them?

  My mind was spiraling, looking for excuses to leave. I needed a breather, so I asked for the bathroom. He pointed up the stairs.

  His bathroom wasn’t a total sty, but it was obvious he was a guy who lived alone. His clothes were on the floor. Damp towels hung off the back of the door, and the toilet seat was up.

  I sat my purse down on the bathroom sink and opened it, digging around for gloss and a hairbrush. My
hands shook and the tiny make-up tube kept slipping through my fingers, so I dumped everything out. I swiped the blueberry-scented lip gloss over my pout, and dragged the brush through my dark hair. I no longer looked like I had just gotten caught in a windstorm, and packed the contents of my purse away again. Fixing myself up was enough of a confidence boost to keep going. I took a slow breath.

  To second base only. That’s not too hard. I can do it. And Blake … Blake is gorgeous. When will I get a chance like this again?

  Back in the living room, Blake shuffled stuff around so that the sofa was cleared off while I stood there watching, awkwardly.

  Since the kissing had stopped, I wasn’t sure how to get it started again. Just going and throwing myself at him didn’t seem right this time. Especially since he was the kind of guy who asked first.

  He vanished into the kitchen before I could decide either way.

  “So, what do you do?” I asked, trying to break the silence.

  “A bunch of things,” he called back. “I like building motorcycles.”

  “Like the one we rode tonight? You built that?” I could barely grasp how one person could build something as complicated as a motorbike.

  I heard him rummaging around in drawers. “Yeah, just a hobby really. What do you do?”

  What did I do? Moving forward, all I had was The List. All-consuming. My only goal. But that wasn’t a normal answer. “I used to go to university.”

  “You’re too young to be finished. You drop out or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Blake returned, holding two bottles of beer.

  Beer. This could be good. Liquid courage.

  He handed me one, then kicked off his wet shoes, and peeled off his jacket and shirt. He gave them a flick to shake away some mint leaves, then threw them over the mountain of books on the coffee table.

  I gawped at him standing there topless. He didn’t seem to be making any move to replace the shirt he’d just removed. He was godly. I took a long scull of my beer.

  “You still wet?” he asked.

  I choked. “Uh, no, the ride back dried me off.”

  Blake sat down on the lounge, sipping his beer. He patted the cushion next to him.

  The old cracked leather sagged and a small puff of dust came out of it. So what if he was a slob? Other than that, he seemed perfect. Perfect for the next item on The List, that was. The last thing I wanted was to get too close to anyone.

  I took another swig, then sat down next to him. I intended to sit juuuuust touching against him, but the lounge slumped unexpectedly to the side and I ended up practically on his lap.

  Our noses brushed each other. Our lips moved in as though drawn together by a magnetic force. Blake paused, and chuckled a soft, throaty chuckle that sent a shiver down my back. “How about we put our drinks down first, this time?”

  “Good idea,” I whispered back, my voice refusing to work fully.

  There was no space on the coffee table, so I reached down and placed my bottle carefully on the floor beside the sofa. I could see Blake stare at my breasts as I bent forward, at how they almost spilled from my tight minidress. He didn’t hide that look, that smolder of animal lust. With a playful growl, he flung his nearly full bottle across the room and pounced on me. I squealed, half in fun and half in genuine shock. The beer bottle thunked against a wall.

  The squeal turned into a giggle as Blake nuzzled into my neck, and then a gasp as he brought his lips closed around my earlobe. Just my earlobe, oh god, and how it felt. No wonder people liked this sex business so much. I suddenly started getting excited about the rest of my list. This was why I wrote it. To feel … this.

  I leaned back, and he leaned over me until we were both lying down. His weight was comforting and I could tell he was holding most of it up off me. His hair was soft under my hands, and his hands were warm when he ran them down my body. I enjoyed the way he kissed me almost too much. Like I could float there in the warm sea of his kisses forever. But I didn’t have forever. I had to keep my eyes on the goal.

  The dress I had bought specifically for tonight had clever little buttons that ran right down the center of the bodice, and I guided his hands to them. I could feel the tug and twist of the fabric as the buttons opened under his fingers.

  I wore no bra, and as my flesh bared to the cool air, fear ripped through me. Nobody except nurses and doctors had ever seen me naked—not since my childhood, anyway. As my dress peeled away, I felt so vulnerable, visible, and judged.

  Blake pulled back for a moment and looked at me, taking me all in. I was ready to run, but the way he groaned at the sight of me made me ache, made me feel so wanted. The air whispered across my nipples, and they grew taut. When Blake put his mouth on one, all my fears left me. It was like he lit a match and my whole body went up in wildfire. I couldn’t think of anything at all except for how incredible it felt, how incredible I felt. Earlobes, schmearlobes.

  His mouth tugged at my nipple and his fingers squeezed the other then slid along the flesh of my breast.

  Every movement of his mouth stole my breath. Every touch made me shiver. Let’s do the whole list right now, please?

  I could tell when he found the scar. His fingers stilled, and he backed up.

  “What’s this?” he asked, sounding out of breath.

  I sat up. The tingling sensations his mouth had started in me died out abruptly. “I … had a breast reduction.” It wasn’t a very convincing lie, when the scar was only on one side.

  His hands ran over the slopes of my chest, feeling the fullness there. “Wow, you have plenty left. How big were you?”

  I shied away from his touch, covering myself with folded arms. His focus on my breasts made my skin crawl with buried fears, trying to dig their way to the surface. I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t do this. “I have to go.”

  “Shit, I’m being insensitive. You don’t have to go. I’ll stop asking questions. Unless you want me to, and then I have plenty of questions. Or we don’t have to talk at all, of course.” He gave me that sly smile again.

  I pulled my dress back up from where it was crumpled around my waist and turned my back on Blake while I did the buttons. I could only repeat, “I have to go.”

  I expected him to argue but he just said he would take me back to my car. When we got there, he tried to ask for my number. I fumbled my keys and pretended not to hear, pretended not to remember I’d been drinking as I started the car and pulled away, leaving him alone in the night.

  I finally arrived home, tired and confused. Dying for some water, I trudged into the kitchen. It had been cleaned, even though I knew it had been my turn to clean it, not Julie’s. Another part of life I’d neglected. She’d even left a bag on the counter of the garlic fries from her work that I liked. They wouldn’t reheat well, but I doubt she was expecting me to be out so late. I ate a few anyway, cold, soggy, and delicious.

  There was a faint rim of light coming from around Julie’s door. I could hear the low drone of barely audible music and voices. Probably Julie binge-watching some sci-fi series like she often did after work. I wanted to knock, to ask if she wanted to hang out, to tell her about Blake and how hot he was, and giggle like two schoolgirls into the night. But all I did was look at that closed door of hers for a few more minutes before grabbing some water and returning to the garlic fries.

  I was on my second glass of water when I heard a theme song play, then click off.

  Julie came into the kitchen, put an empty plate in the sink, gave me a polite nod, and asked, “Do you know if the lab is going to be open for all students this weekend?”

  Julie was a physics student and I wasn’t, so I had no idea. Just as I opened my mouth to say so she tapped her ear to let me know she was on her Bluetooth, gave me a half-wave, and left the room.

  It wasn’t the first time we’d managed to not have a conversation, so why was I crying?

  I wiped the tears away angrily with my arm, stumbled to my bedroom, and cl
osed the door. I didn’t need a girlfriend to gossip to about Blake. I’d probably never see Blake again.

  At least I’d completed another item on The List.

  I opened my purse and reached in, looking for the journal to cross second base off The List.

  It wasn’t there. Not The List or the book. I dumped the purse out on the bed, sure that it was in there and I had just missed it somehow, but amongst all the makeup, loose coins, pens, tampons, and old receipts, it was not present.

  I panicked. Where had I seen it last? I had moved it to one side to get to my hairbrush … while I was in Blake’s bathroom.

  No, no, no, no, no!

  Chapter Four

  Blake

  I’d seen her at the bar the weekend before. I’d almost walked out of the place when Seyvia’s song started playing, then Georgina had caught my eye. I’d gone back hoping she would show up again, and she did, wearing a dress that was even tighter than the first one, showing off her incredible curves. Her face held such a vulnerable and innocent beauty, but she had these wide, impossibly full lips that I couldn’t get out of my mind. Her long dark hair hung past her shoulders. It was sexy, in a ragged kind of way. Everything about her was sexy in a ragged kind of way that first night—from the little tears in the material of her dress to how she grabbed a punker-wannabe out of nowhere and made out with him for the sheer hell of it. It turned me on like nothing else. She seemed so wild and uninhibited. The kind of girl I needed. Someone who liked to have a bit of fun, with no commitments.

  When I got the chance to talk to her, I said something dumb about not dancing and thought I’d ballsed the whole thing up. Everyone knew ladies liked guys who could dance. I knew that too well. It was half the reason I didn’t dance anymore. The other half of the reason was too painful to think about

  But Georgina had just laughed with me, and I suddenly had no idea what kind of girl I was dealing with. When she joked with me, and went home with me, I figured she was a goer after all. Then everything changed again, and she was gone.